


What Goes Around

by Anmltz



Series: In the memory of the living [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Temporary Character Death, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-26
Updated: 2014-02-26
Packaged: 2018-01-13 20:45:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1240228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anmltz/pseuds/Anmltz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America experiences death for himself, and gains some insight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Goes Around

Alfred’s gun drops to the ground as he clutches at his stomach, in surprise more than pain. Blood seeps between his fingers and dribbles over them.

“Down! Get down!”

A hand tugs at his shoulder sharply and he falls back into the mud. The pain hits him like a vicious punch to the gut, but deeper, more painful, and sharper. Actually not really like a punch at all, Alfred resolves. 

He becomes aware of voices around him and there are hands on his wound, but they’re not his anymore. When did his hands fall away? Were they pulled away? Who pulled them away? They shouldn’t have pulled them away; he needed to stop the blood. And there was a lot of that now. He could have stopped that. He was America. He could do anything. He was fighting England, after all, wasn’t he?

In an attempt to reassert his authority and stem the blood flow, Alfred discovers his own hands are no longer under his complete control. Suddenly they are so weak. Why won’t they do what he wants them to do? He waves them weakly at the other hands scrabbling around the bloody hole in his stomach, binding it in white that quickly stains red with blood.

Blood. Blood wasn’t good, was it? Unbidden, the familiar phrase brings back the image of a prone England with a gaping cavity in the side of his head and the talk the day after; “Death is something I hope you will never have to face, however, directly or vicariously, you will, so it is best if I warn you.”

‘Death hurts’ had been a big part of it, and little Alfred had sobbed but now, big Alfred laughs. He chuckles wetly and blood bubbles up over his lips as the voices in his ears become more frenzied. 

He is then aware of the ground moving beneath him and it occurs to him that that’s a little odd. Ground does not move. But there are arms under his shoulders. Pulling him. Oh. That makes sense. As he is pulled smoothly through the mud he leaves a trail of blood at his feet. Alfred giggles. A trail of red that leads right to him, that’s not very discrete, is it? ‘Not sensible’, as England would say. A different England from the one clad in red, gun in hand as he stands in the mud, staring at him as fury and heartbreak clash in his eyes. 

Alfred stops giggling; actually it’s not funny at all.

He blinks sluggishly, realising distractedly that it is getting darker. But then he corrects himself; it’s just his vision clouding. Well there is a lot of blood in the mud. Is it all his? It might be. It might be one of his countrymen’s; it might be from one of England’s men. It all looks the same, really.

There are people rushing around him, but Alfred can no longer make them out; he is losing much of his vision to the blackness. He allows himself to drift; it is clear he is dying, as much as someone like him can die. He is immediately grateful the bullet that ripped through his stomach was not England’s, although he must admit, that would have been poetic. 

And as the blackness becomes complete and the hubbub of voices becomes a dull, monotonous roar in his ears, Alfred is hit by an intense wave of despair and longing for warm green eyes and the protective embrace of a loving parent, before his raspy breaths cease for an entire hour.

So when Alfred next faces Arthur on the battlefield, he is older and he is wiser, and he vows it will the last time he pains the one who had done nothing but cared for him.


End file.
